


Stay the Night

by jemrio



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7412086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemrio/pseuds/jemrio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How violently do you shatter between the moments that keep you alive?" - Noor Shirazle</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really love Eugene; more than any character in the show probably. This thing was born out my love for him, and for my need to see him validated and cared for. I do not own any of this. (besides Rosie)

Eugene was half convinced he’s been dreaming her up these past 3 weeks. She only ever showed up in the middle of the night (and only when his dad’s snores could be faintly heard through the walls so Eugene knew he was asleep, but how could she know that?) and never stayed till morning. It was funny too, not like laughing funny, but strange, how she seemed to know when his day had been particularly bad. She stayed the longest on those nights, and it was during those longer stretches he was able to stay awake with her. 

She was mean, or used to be. He sort of remembered when they were kids together, she liked to kick boys in the nuts just to see their faces screw up in pain. They were never friends, the memory of her violent streak only just faded into the background of his childhood memories. Eugene can’t even remember having a full conversation with her before… well, before.  
She makes him swear not to tell anyone she visits, but the way she asks (every time, she makes him swear every single time) doesn’t make him feel like a secret she’s keeping, or like she’s ashamed that she wants to see him. No, the way she says it makes him sure that it’s the other way around. Because Eugene knows her story, even though she’s never told him, and even though he hardly ever goes beyond his front door anymore; she’s got a daddy who’s meaner than she ever was, who likes to kick her just to see her cry. 

The whole town thinks she ran away. That’s the reason she makes him swear to silence. He doesn’t know where she sleeps when she’s not in his bed, and he worries about her. She just bats his concerned words away like a skeeter that buzzed too close to her ears, but he sees how her eyes soften.  
The first time she showed up, someone had thrown a rock through his window that evening. His dad went to bed early, looking more tired than he had in awhile. Eugene swept up the glass and went to work on taping some cardboard over the frame, but the guilt was still thick in his chest.  
“Hey you,” a voice floated up from the ground beneath the window, and Eugene flinched away, thinking maybe they’d come back to hit their real target with a rock. “Hey, come back here!”

He peaked over the sill, but didn’t see anyone. “I ain’t gonna throw shit at you, come back,” she said. Then he heard a creaking noise; she was climbing up the tree by his window. Startled and wide eyed, Eugene leaned out and tried to shush her, or get her to leave. He wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted her to do, but continuing to climb toward him definitely wasn’t it. She scaled the sycamore quicker than he’d thought she would, and suddenly was reaching out toward him, palm open. Before he could flinch again, she rolled her eyes and said, “Hey Root, you gonna help me in or what?”  
Once she was inside, he got a clear look and remembered her name; Rosie Harwood, the girl from elementary he’d been frightened of for years. She tossed her backpack onto his desk and gestured toward the window.

“Those assholes from school, huh?”  
Eugene was so bewildered he couldn’t speak, but he nodded.

“Yeah, thought so. I heard ‘em talking about it over by the filling station, thought I’d come see what’s what. Need help?”  
She picked up the duct tape and cardboard, and proceeded to correct his previous measurements. 

“Um, what are you…”

“I’m helping. Ain’t that what I just said?” She frowned, and began meticulously taping his window shut. Instead of trying to argue, Eugene sat down on his bed and let the situation unfold. She cursed a bit as she worked, because the tape stuck to her much as it did the cardboard, but beyond that didn’t try to make any conversation with him.  
Eugene was okay with that.  
When she was done, she dusted her hands on her jeans and plopped down beside him. 

“Well, aren’t you gonna thank me?” Her smile was wide and wild, and just a little bit fake. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, knowing she probably couldn’t understand him anyways. 

“Hey,” she said, purposefully ducking down to meet his eyes. “Not everyone in the shit town hates you, okay?”  
He blinked, she sighed.

“Okay, Eugene. It’s okay. Maybe I’ll see you around.” Then she was out his bedroom door, silent as death. 

Her first few visits were similar; short and to the point. She’d show up at his window, bright and elusive, like a firefly. Then she’d go. The in-between parts were always different though. Sometimes she’d drop in to tell him she beat up Howie Jones because she heard him saying rude things about Eugene, and they’d chat about everything and nothing until she breezed out when he wasn’t looking. Sometimes she’d haul herself through the window with a dead look in her eye, and she’d sit on his bed while he did schoolwork, not talking except for hello and goodbye. 

On the 5th night, the goodbye was different. Rosie had been pacing his room while he’d distracted himself on his computer; she stayed for 4 hours, the longest yet, but she didn’t do much but pace. And touch him, whenever she passed by his chair. Fingers ghosting over his shoulder, a ruffle of his hair… He didn’t say anything at the time, but he liked it. Liked knowing there was someone willing to give him affection regardless of the bad things he’s done.  
He heard her shrugging on her backpack (the usual signal she’s about to take off) but doesn’t hear the door creak. When he lifted his head, she was staring at him, eyes swirling with things he doesn’t understand. She looked like she was about to say something. Her lips quirked on one side.  
“I’m coming back tomorrow night,” she said, then left, quiet as ever. She’d never told him when she’d visit next. 

The sixth night. When Rosie climbed in his window, she held onto his helping hand. Her thumb brushed against the skin of his hand, and the look in her eyes told him she meant to. This time when she shed her back back, she also shed her jeans. Eugene blinked, as speechless as the first night she’d showed up. But her eyes were softer than he’d ever seen them, and for some reason he didn’t automatically flinch when she reached up to touch the side of his face.  
“Can I stay the night?” She asked.

That was the night she ran away; or so Eugene would hear afterward. His father was on the case of the missing Harwood girl, and mentioned it more than a few times. Talking about how it was a tragedy, how a promising young woman like that could disappear with no one noticing. Eugene could never connect the word ‘tragedy’ to that night. Not when his only memories were Rosie’s breath against his skin, the way her body folded into his beneath his sheets. They remained mostly clothed throughout the night, and only slept; no other activities. But Eugene couldn’t imagine anything feeling better than the tips of her fingers as she touched his mouth, and the look in her sleepy eyes as she smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My love, take these walls, these wars.   
>  Dull my blades. I am tired of the hunt.
> 
> I’ve laid my only words at your feet. Open for me.   
>  I want to know, be known. Want and be wanted.
> 
> \- Jeanne Verlee

After she ran away, Rosie spent more time than ever at Eugene’s house. She didn’t have any money to really run, so she made do with bleaching her hair and sunglasses. Annville was too small a town though, and the risk of getting seen and reported rose with every passing day. For every night she spent at Eugene’s, there were two nights she haunted the underpass, or old hunting blinds in the woods; no matter how much she wanted to spend that time flipping through Eugene’s old comics and watch him hunched over his desk writing an essay, she made herself set limits. Rosie didn’t knew what her dad would do if he ever got her back, but she did know letting herself get emotionally attached to Eugene would only end up hurting them both.

 

_ Too late, genius. _

 

Understatement of the century… attachment. Rosie wasn’t quite able to put words to the feelings firework-ing in her stomach when Eugene looked up at her through his lashes, all uncertain friendliness and blue eyes. She didn’t quite know how why her heart turned a somersault when he shared something with her--a lame joke, a song he liked, even a leftover sip of the shakes he drank (not very tasty, but her chest constricted with affection when he offered anyways).  _ Puppy love; disgusting. _

Rosie almost didn’t go back after the first night she spent with him. She left before he woke in the morning, brain rattling around in her skull, afraid and still feeling the warmth of his skin beneath tingling fingers. 

She’d never outright told anyone about her dad, but the town was small enough that most people knew most other people’s business. Her father was a sorry drunk, and everyone knew it. One night, before she ran, Rosie showed up at Eugene’s, weak from one of her dad’s rages; no one really hid their reaction well when they accidently saw one of the many bruises painting her skin, and Eugene was no exception. 

She thought he might mention it, a mumbled “what happened” or something equally considerate and intrusive (Rosie hated when people asked. If she told them, they wouldn’t do shit. They all just liked to pretend to care to make themselves feel better), but he never did. Eugene just widened his eyes and went back to tuning his guitar. 

Before she left that night, he opened a drawer in his desk and fished out a bottle of ibuprofen, pressing it into her hand without a word.

 

Looking back, Rosie thought that was maybe the turning point. She started thinking about him during the day, in the middle of class, or when she was collecting her dad’s empty liquor bottles to recycle (he went through so many, it seemed a shame to let him pollute in addition to everything else he did). She’d be in the frozen food section looking for the cheapest tv dinners that week when the fluorescent lights would reflect against the linoleum in the same vivid blue of Eugene’s eyes. There was a pressure in her chest when she thought about him, insistent and sweet and despicable.

 

_ Fuck it all.   _

 

Sometimes she regretted that initial visit. She thought about all the pain that was sure to come from this stupid attachment, what with her issues, and his past, and this screwed up, scary town. She thought about how absurd it was, to have a crush on Eugene Root of all damn people. Sure he was cute before the incident, but now he was more of a monstrosity--

 

_ No, that’s a lie. He’s beautiful. Still. _

 

Rosie saw the physical marks of his past mistakes like anyone else; how could she not? The boys at school didn’t call him arseface for nothing. It’s not like she could overlook that… but at the same time, he was the sweetest human being she’d ever met. Like, cavity inducing sweet. Even before the incident. Rosie remembered coming to school and deciding to be on the warpath that day, going around tormenting boys for existing. The first and only time she tried to victimize Eugene, he apologized on behalf of whoever’d made her angry, then offered up his cookies from home to make her feel better. He’d still looked slightly terrified as she sat beside him, munching on the cookies with a stormy pout on her face.   
And then, more time she spent with him, she started to notice other physical things about him. Like his eyes. Or how broad his shoulders were now that they were older. Rosie’d caught herself staring at his body more times than she’d care to recount. 

 

So on the second day after she ran, after waging warfare in her mind, the longing to see him won out. She pushed all the doubts, the uncertainty, the fear way down deep and hauled herself up the sycamore tree. She was exhausted. Tired from no sleep, from stress, from looking over her shoulder every three minutes. Her body sagged against the tree trunk as she rapped her knuckles against his window.

A moment later it swung open, and Eugene reached out to help her in, his eyes bright. Rosie felt the fog of pain lift.

“Hey,” she breathed.

 

“I thought you’d be in California by now,” he said when she was safely inside his room. Rosie grimaced, almost wishing she was. 

“Guess I’ve been reported, huh?”

“Yeah. Dad mentioned it yesterday.”   


Rosie chewed the inside of her cheek. She dropped her duffel bag by the window with a sigh.

“Whelp, looks like I’m officially on the lam. Maybe if I get lucky, they’ll think my dad murdered me. Jail’d suit him.”   
  


She went to collapse on the bed, feeling suddenly like she might faint. Eugene sat at his desk, looking like he was about to mumble something comforting, but Rosie shushed him, and patted the bed. “Tell me about your day?” she asked. Eugene obliged, looking a little flushed at the neck as he sat down, back to the headboard; Rosie put her head on his chest and closed her eyes. It was harder to decipher his words when she couldn’t see his face (she couldn't put her finger on why, it’s not like he could be lip-read) but she made do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When was the last time someone ran their fingers through the knots of your soul? - Pavana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter took a lot more effort to write bc I was so thrown by the portrayal of the whole Eugene/Tracy incident by Jesse. I'm personally not convinced the situation was as reductive and simple, so this rambling mess of fic is operating under the assumption it was merely a suicide attempt gone wrong, NOT attempted murder. Also, it's set a few months before the show.

A week after she ran away, Rosie showed up earlier than normal. It was barely 8pm, the gold-purple sunset still staining the horizon. As he helped her through the window, Eugene thought (not for the first time) that she must have an old police radio hidden somewhere; his dad had left earlier that evening for Amarillo on an across the board call for police officers. Some kind of man hunt. Eugene hadn’t bothered asking the details as his father packed.

Anyways, at 7:48 that night, Rosie Harwood tapped on his window. 

“Hey, Root. What’s up?”

Eugene was very unsure. Her voice was louder than normal, and there was a small part of him that was nervous about her being there when his dad was out of town.

“Hi…” he mumbled as she moved past him. She dropped her bag on the floor and took a deep breath. 

“We’re good for the weekend, right?”

Eugene found himself nodding.

“Yeah. How did you…”

“I have a friend with a cop radio.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, they don’t use it for any serious crime,” Rosie laughed as she un-zipped her jeans and kicked off her shoes.

“Um--yeah, okay..” Eugene stuttered.

Rosie flashed him a grin and apologized.

“Sorry Root, forgot where I was.” She gathered up her pants and duffel bag before heading towards his bedroom door. “Just gonna use your bathroom, ‘kay?”

He couldn’t even manage a nod before she swung open his door and padded out into the hallway. 

After a moment, he heard the shower sputter to life. A moment after that, Eugene headed downstairs, determined not to glance toward the bathroom door as he passed it. 

 

He puttered around the kitchen while she bathed, hyper aware of her presence just one floor up. They’d gotten to know each other fairly well over the past few weeks, but that didn’t mean he’d been expecting this kind of interaction. 

Eugene Root was many things, but a sucker was not one of them. He knew what people thought of him. He knew what he looked like. He knew the only reason Rosie Harwood spent time with him was because she had issues of her own. No one in their right mind would want to spend time with him, or be neighborly, or want to look him in the face if they didn’t have to…

 

No. Eugene grimaced best he could, not settled with thinking anything negative about Rosie. Sure, her life wasn’t perfect, but who’s really was? Scared as he felt when she was smiling up at him with her whole damn body, it was no reason to call her crazy. 

 

_ Speaking of her body… _

 

Eugene fumbled with and almost dropped the container of leftover meatloaf in his hands as he restlessly rummaged through the fridge. There had been times during her most recent visits, when she spent the night nearly naked and curled into him like a puppy, that Eugene almost felt normal. Before she fell asleep, her eyelids would droop, and the corner of her lips would quirk up in the tiniest smile. That alone gave Eugene a wonderful, warm feeling deep in his gut; but it was her gaze that really rattled him. Those eyes that he could swear held a thousand bright universes would be looking at him. Not into the space over his shoulder like most people did nowadays. Not filled with pity and contempt. 

 

Her eyes were all soft kindness as she gazed directly at his scars. She looked at his disfigured mouth like there was something there she wanted. Heat lightning bloomed all in his stomach and chest when she looked at him like that. Half in and out of slumber. Half aware. She would pull him closer and closer until he would wrap one shaking arm around her middle, and then she would lift her gaze to his. 

 

In those quiet, blazing moments, there was no past (not for either of them) and no future (where anything and everything would inevitably go wrong) but just the present. Just the pads of her fingertips against his rough scar tissue. Just the her breath on his neck and the soft, beautiful sound of her sighing. Eugene felt wanted. He felt needed. He felt like there was no way he could ever leave this world willingly if this one moment existed. 

 

“Daydreaming about me, Root?”

 

Startled, Eugene slammed the fridge door shut. Rosie walked into the room, barefoot, wearing a grey tee shirt and a pair of boxers; both were his. She ignored the widening of his eyes, gesturing with the duffel bag in her arms. “Can I use your washer machine?”

 

After she’d started a load of laundry, Eugene wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.

 

“Do you, um, want any food?” He asked. “I think we have cereal. And meatloaf…” 

“Anything, thanks. Starved.” She filled up a large bowl with frosted flakes and milk while Eugene stood by the table and fidgeted. If she noticed his nerves, she didn’t mention it (and he was secretly thankful) she just smiled that smile of hers and settled down to sit at the table, legs folded beneath her. She did that sometimes, just shut her mouth, looked him in the eyes, and smiled. She’d wait hours before speaking again, always with a sweet, knowing, almost amused look. Eventually he’d calm the pitter-patter in his chest enough to start again, like they were normal. Like this wasn’t dysfunctional at all, a teenage runaway hiding out with the town pariah and looking at him like he was a sunrise instead of a sinkhole. 

 

So, like usual, Eugene was able to breathe again, and it was just Rosie sitting there across from him, wet hair dripping, chewing loudly with an open mouth. He cocked his head a little, noticing how the damp grey shirt clung a little to her shoulders. He’d never seen her like this before.

 

“Where do you shower? Normally, I mean?” It took a second too long for Rosie to meet his eye, and that’s when he knew the answer is not one she’d been planning on sharing. She was still smiling though, as she swallowed a mouthful of cereal and rolled her shoulders.

“That abandoned house, over on Lynn. City hasn’t shut off the plumbing yet.”

It took a minute for Eugene to make the connection.

“Isn’t that a--”

“Crackhouse? Yeah.” Rosie looked up at him, earnest and reassuring. “I ain’t on anything, I swear; it’s just a place to crash. There are hardly any people there anyhow.”

"Oh. Okay."

"Yeah. It's not bad. Better than the underpass."

It was the most she'd ever spoken about her life outside of their midnight-- hangouts? Liaisons? _Dates_?? No word seemed right to Eugene. 

"Well, as long as you're safe," he said, his already mumbly voice smaller than normal. Feeling a blush creep up his neck, Eugene looked away and twiddled his thumbs on the table. Rosie surprised him by reaching across to grasp his hand tightly in hers. His ears grew hot as he met her eyes and saw a variation of the look she'd give him when she was about to fall asleep; he couldn't put a finger on the difference, but whatever it was made his whole body feel like a candle flame. She traced her other hand up his forearm as she smiled just for him.

"I'll always stay safe, Eugene, if only so I can come back and see you."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really want to thank every person who has been so kind as to read this mess, or like/comment; it honestly means the world to me, and I'm so happy that I'm not the only one who wants to see Eugene get some love and attention! I want to keep this as fluffy as I can, but it's hard to ignore the rotten and tragic nature of the show. This might dip into semi-darkness if I make it that far, but nothing too bad I promise!


End file.
